


memories

by dyingsureisfun



Series: mainline canon is fake (Tales From the SMP Fics) [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Tales From The SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: -shoves recent canon away- anyways, Crying, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I suppose, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kinda, Light Angst, Name Changes, No Dialogue, Non-Human Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Reincarnation, and i dunno if it makes sense to anyone running on more than 4 hours of sleep, but we're here now, heavily implied, i do not know, i'm in denial about yesterday (<- wrote jan 7th), idk - Freeform, if i ever write about main story c!dream in a positive light, keep in mind this is set in an au, no beta we die like dream's family, please perfom an exorcism on me, sorry - Freeform, there might be a single line, they're not very good at it, this fic went exactly the opposite direction i thought it would, why do dialogue and long stories escape me when i write this series?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingsureisfun/pseuds/dyingsureisfun
Summary: Sometimes it's better to not think about the past.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Series: mainline canon is fake (Tales From the SMP Fics) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096232
Comments: 7
Kudos: 165





	memories

**Author's Note:**

> what do you mean doomsday happened?  
> look, see, l'manberg's fine! tubbo's fine! friend's fine! nothing is wrong :)
> 
> obligatory- don't take this as shipping! don't ship the CC! if any CC express discomfort at this/this kind of fic it will be taken down immediately!
> 
> oh and if you take this as a ship i will castrate you
> 
> (made minor edits - 1/12/21)

Dream doesn’t remember much of his past anymore. He only recalls bits and pieces, fragments of memories of a time long gone.

He remembers long journeys across wide empty swaths of land, the pain of dying, and the greater pain of never staying dead. He can distantly recall the feeling of wind on his face and fresh air in his lungs back when he was someone else and blissfully unaware of the future.

He remembers his mother too. He remembers the tune she’d hum when she put him to bed, that her hair was dark, her eyes were grey, and her hands were calloused. He remembers that she wasn’t home very often and that her eyes got sad when she stared at him sometimes. He supposed it was because he looked like his father, though that’s all he ever learned about the man. He knows that he left home the day she died and that the village they lived in doesn’t exist anymore. It’s bittersweet more than anything.

Four-hundred years is a long time to live, and Dream knows of countless towns that he’s lived that have been since wiped off the map, but only two of them really sting to think about.

The first was a town named Larks, a mountain town tucked away at the borders of the world and full of laughter. A place where he holed up for years, hiding away from the world and clutching bits of his past close to his chest till they start to break. A place where he was allowed to be nameless, and eventually faceless too, and no one pressed him about it. A place that was so hidden and insignificant that the Narrator would have no reason to follow him. A place where he could live without fear of disaster. A place where he could recraft himself hidden away from the eyes of others.

He disappeared from the mountain town years after he’d first shown up, leaving behind only a whisper of a rumour of a man who never ages, an old rotting straw hat laced with withered flowers, and a name.

The second town, he thinks as he traces a hand over Eret’s map, was better off forgotten. But he’s seen the book sitting innocently on the library shelf, the indents his nails made in the leather cover and the warping of the pages from his tears assuring him it was exactly what he thought it was. He doesn’t read the words in it again, shoving it back on the shelf and leaving with a distinct ringing in his ears, knuckles going white from how tightly he’s gripping the handle of his axe.

Dream’s not a pacer, but he walks back and forth in front of the map all night, mind buzzing with half-formed memories and ghosts of long-gone friends flickering in the torchlight.

It’s Tubbo who finds him, still in his state, the next morning, a concerned look flashing across his features when Dream doesn’t so much as acknowledge his presence, still muttering nonsensically under his breath.

Dream registers the tap on his shoulder, using it to pull himself out of the past and back to solid shapes, but clearly not well enough. Robin’s standing in front of him, mouth moving around silent words and hands wringing at the bottom of their shirt. He’s missing his hat and there’s something about his face that looks just slightly off, but it’s close enough for Dream, and he barely thinks before wrapping his arms tightly around the boy.

Tubbo startles slightly, half of his brain screaming at him to _get back, run away, it’s a trap, you’re going to die_ , but Dream holds him steadily, and Tubbo swears he can hear the muffled sounds of disbelieving laughter from behind Dream’s mask. He awkwardly hugs the other back, patting him lightly on the back before gently trying to pry himself out of the other’s grasp.

Dream lets go of his child, giving himself a moment to take in the sight of them after so long. He ruffles his hair, and when Robin reacts predictably, batting his hand away and moving to reshape it, Dream feels a wide smile stretch across his face behind his mask. Oh right, his mask. Robin hasn’t seen him with his mask on before.

Cornelius lifts the mask off his face and moves to perch it on the side of his head when he freezes in place. Tubbo has taken the place of his son, and despite him clearly wearing a smile on his face moments prior, Dream can see the joy seeping out of the president’s face, turning to concern, bewilderment, and worst of all fear.

“Dream?” Tubbo begins, his voice small and soft, and it all hits Dream at once. There’s pressure behind his eyes and then warm tears streaming down his cheeks.

Tubbo hesitates for a moment, torn between his fear and distrust of Dream, and the unexplainable pull he felt to comfort the other. He moves to step back, to go get someone better equipped than him to deal with this situation, but then he’s hugging Dream, and Dream is hugging back and sobbing into his shoulder. Something about the situation feels backwards and off, but as the two of them sink to the floor, Dream’s mask clattering on the stone ground as the man clings tightly to him, he thinks that it can be this way just this once.

Eret finds them hours later when they drop by to update their museum. The two of them are asleep, Tubbo’s head resting on Dream’s shoulder, a relaxed look gracing his face as he peacefully dozes. Dream has a protective arm wrapped around Tubbo’s shoulders, and even though Eret can see dried tear tracks on his cheeks (which by itself is odd, Dream never takes off his mask), a content smile rests on his lips.

The museum is closed for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> this is absolutely not the end of me writing about these characters just because karl's doing another one of the tftsmp streams  
> you can not escape them  
> i can not escape them
> 
> uh the point is i'm still going to be writing for them because i still have story ideas i want to flesh out, and i still care them very much
> 
> \----  
> tw swearing:
> 
> fun fact!  
> this fic started off as a vent fic, and had the roles completely flipped :)  
> tubbo got to bear the burden of having just a really fucking awful day in terms of depressive episodes and how it can affect, at least for me, how much i'm able to talk/be seen/participate for that day. plus, with tubbo having the day i did where i couldn't talk at all least i break down sobbing i could tie it to robin's mute grief over the loss of his family :D  
> but it wasn't coming together because,,, i mean,,, don't write vent fic about shitty experiences while still in the shitty experience when the shitty experience is hampering how much you can do. it doesn't work out well.


End file.
